Reality Check

In the northern part of Mexico there is a small town in the state of Nuevo Laredo called Ciudad Anáhuac. This town has a sister city just down the road and over a bridge. The town is called Rodriguez, and it was my dad's hometown. This is where his parents built a home, raised a family, entertained grandchildren, loved and lost a son, and later, where my grandfather was laid to rest.

It is the place that my dad still calls home, even after more than forty years of being in the States.

It is where I cracked open my uncle's skull when I caught him with a rock I was throwing into a pool for him and his friends to retrieve.

It is where my beloved grandmother gave me her beautiful gold ring so that I wouldn't feel left out when my brother was taken to the town fair and I was left behind.

It is where I learned of my somewhat [in]famous heritage.

It is where we mourned the passing of my uncle and my grandfather.

It is where I spent countless summers watching my grandmother make her amazing flour tortillas fresh for every meal. Where I watched her chase a chicken around the yard, shoo dogs out of the house, and toil lovingly and endlessly at the myriad of chores that made up life in this small, humble home.

It is a place that is currently under water.

This past weekend my parents traveled to Mexico to participate in the first Communion of their God daughter, my niece Alexandra. While there, they witnessed the mass damage caused by torrential rains in Monterrey and neighboring towns. The incessant rain from Hurricane Alex and it's remnants had beaten this metropolis into a soggy pulp. But that could not prepare them for what awaited them to the north.

On Monday, they made their way to my dad's hometown of Rodriguez to spend a few days with my grandmother and uncles. They arrived to a house full of people thrilled to see them and settled in for what they hoped would be a relaxing few days among family. As they settled in for dinner, city officials arrived to announce a mandatory evacuation of both Anáhuac and Rodriguez. The reason for the evacuation? The area dam, known officially as the Venustiano Carranza dam, but called Don Martín by the locals, was so full that it was at risk of breaking. Rather than deal with such a catastrophe, government officials opted to begin controlled releases of the overflow by opening twenty of the dam's twenty six floodgates. This meant releasing six hundred cubic meters of water per second into two small, humble towns made up on about forty five hundred homes and eighteen thousand people. Effectively, it meant flooding the towns. This would occur until the reservoir's water levels returned to more normal levels, and considering that the water from several tributaries was still gushing in from coastal rains brought on by another tropical depression, we were talking at least a week. I don't know if you can conceive what that looks like. I know I couldn't.

Then I found these images at www.milenio.com.

This first one is a before shot of the street where my grandmother lives, along with two uncles, one of which lives there with his wife and three daughters. Her house is the pink one on the right.

Photograph by Francisco Cantu

This second shot is from the next morning, after the dam's floodgates had been open for what I'm guessing is about twelve hours. You can see the house is nearly submerged in the dam's runoff.

Photograph by Francisco Cantu

This last image provides a side view of the land on which my grandmother's home sits. You'll note there is a second story structure towards the back of the property. This second story room sits on stilts of a sort and is taller than the original home. While the water had not yet reached this elevated room, keep in mind these images were shot not long after the dam draining process was started. I suspect it has since been submerged.

Photograph by Francisco Cantu

As for the bridge that connected these two cities? It's gone. Washed away in the raging waters released from the dam.

Even as I look at these images, I am unable to wrap my head around the complete devastation and loss. I hurt for my grandmother, who has spent a lifetime in this house, working tirelessly to make it a home and welcome refuge for all who entered. She has not seen these images, and I think it is just as well. She is currently staying in San Antonio with one of my aunts, and has my dad nearby to provide anything she may need. And while I'm sure she is grateful to be safe and dry, I also suspect she misses her home.

As for me? I am grateful that she is safe, that my parents were there to quickly mobilize the family and bring all our loved ones to safety. I am grateful for God's grace and mercy. I am humbled and reminded of what is truly important in life. And I am moved to action. I have begun exploring ways to help the people of these towns. More on this to come.

Here's to a reality check and doing something to help.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

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